


between the shadow and the soul

by thewhitebirds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, F/M, MWPP Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhitebirds/pseuds/thewhitebirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I have always told you that marrying for love is abysmally foolish—you should never develop affection for something you cannot control totally. It makes you weak."</i>  </p><p>--</p><p>In the months leading up to his wedding, Lucius Malfoy attempts to juggle societal expectations while repairing his relationship with the enigma that is Narcissa Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

> I've noticed a lot of Lucius/Narcissa is written from Narcissa's POV and this was a great opportunity to change that. Title from Neruda's sonnet XVII & early scenes inspired by Edith Wharton. Written for Lucius Big Bang 2013.

 

 

 

_The persons of their world lived in an atmosphere of faint implications and pale delicacies, and the fact that he and she_  
_understood each other without a word seemed to the young man to bring them nearer than any explanation would have done._  
(Edith Wharton, _The Age of Innocence_ )

 

 **January 8-9, 1976**  
When Lucius Malfoy arrived at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts' Annual Showcase, the second act had already begun. He was usually a punctual man to the minute, but he had heard on good authority (now verified by the tasseled program in his hand) that the first act would be a modern rendition of _Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds_ , and as such he was certain that his time had been better spent in splinting the wing of a peachick. Loathe as he was to admit it, the elves could manage the birds perfectly, but there were some things he preferred to do himself.

Lucius walked purposefully down the corridor, ignoring the running commentary on the show coming from the portraits of theatrical greats around him. He hesitated outside the door belonging to the Malfoy box, but bypassed it for the box belonging to the Aethonan Club, est. 1824, yet again under scrutiny for Muggle-born exclusion. He paused in the doorway, lips curling slightly. The timing couldn't have been better. Selections from Handel's _Agrippina_ had just begun and men were still gathered in groups, talking quietly and surveying stage and audience with omnioculars. Like most other boxes, the Club's was larger on the inside than it looked from outside, with a concealed bar in one corner and tables scattered throughout.

He moved towards the bar, where he was immediately accosted by his cousin, Leonidas Selwyn. "I saw Aunt, but the old man didn't even show up?" he asked by way of greeting, handing Lucius a scotch.

"You know as well as I do that Father is a complete philistine," Lucius said with considerable irritation, as he always did when Abraxas Malfoy was mentioned. He took a sip. "But he will be joining all of us at the W.A.D.A. Gala after this, certainly."

"Because he wants to see Pollux Black make a drunken fool of himself like last year," Leonidas said with a grin.

Lucius made a noncommittal noise and finished the drink. In the past, he might have laughed, but this _was_ his fiancee's grandfather, after all, and the fierceness with which the Blacks rallied around the members of their sprawling clan was starting to become intimidating. She had only accepted his proposal two days ago--he absently twisted the gardenia in his buttonhole, reminiscing--and the inevitability had not diminished the pleasure of the moment in the slightest. They were too well-matched in wealth and temperament _not_ to marry, after all. Yet he still felt immensely self-satisfied by the way her eyes had brightened and how his great-grandmother's ring had looked on her pale, slim hand.

Lucius wandered towards the front of the box, where a group had gathered to listen to "Pensieri, voi mi tormentate." Patroclus Nott was twisting his mustache and looked angry in a way Lucius immediately found suspicious.

"I'll be going," Nott said abruptly upon Lucius' arrival, though the song was only half over. "I really won't have Claudia exposed to _such people_ , and with that Skeeter woman here, it'll be a disgusting show in _The Prophet_ tomorrow."

Lucius resisted the urge to comment that Claudia Nott's obliviousness was enough to prevent her from being exposed to unsavory people, but he knew what Nott expected. "What is the problem?"

Nott jammed his omnioculars into Lucius' hand with a snort. Deliberately adjusting the knobs, he focused--not at the audience, where Patroclus had been looking, but at the Black family box directly across from the Club box. It technically belonged to Arcturus Black, the ancient, formidable patriarch of the family, but he never attended. Today, Walburga Black was sitting front and center, looking absolutely livid in a way that made Lucius cringe. To the left sat his fianceé's mother, Druella, silvering blonde hair piled on top of her head, lips thin with worry. He shifted the omnioculars slightly and drew in a satisfied breath upon seeing Narcissa Black. Compared to the other women in her box--and in fact, the women all the boxes--she dazzled, skin luminous against the navy silk dress robes and lips crimson. Lucius did not consider himself a romantic (life with Abraxas Malfoy would stomp _that_ out of even Byron), but he would admit to being _captivated_. He still remembered his fourth year, when a picture of the three Black sisters had been in _The Prophet_. Bellatrix and Andromeda were looking off to the side, but the fierce, hostile way thirteen-year-old Narcissa had stared down the camera had fascinated him even then.

A similar expression was on her face right now as she toyed with the lustrous rope of pearls around her neck, but unlike her mother and aunt, she perceived immediately that he was watching her. Her eyes met his and then flickered briefly towards the audience before she shifted and focused intently on the show. Lucius immediately found who she was indicating and then turned back towards Nott.

"Andromeda Bl--Andromeda _Tonks_ is here."

"Correct," Nott said, standing up and practically swelling with self-righteousness. "The cheek--the _nerve_ of that girl, showing up in a public venue with her mudblood husband. Rita Skeeter will have a field day. It'll be the talk of things for a week, for sure. In fact, I ought to write to _The Prophet_ myself, condemning the pollution of our venues."

"Come, Patroclus, anyone can buy the orchestra level tickets to this event," Rabastan Lestrange commented, nervously adjusting his bow tie. "It's not as if the Blacks could have foreseen this or prevented her from attending, even if she is disowned."

Further angering Nott, who had seniority _and_ the Dark Lord's ear right now, was not the right strategy, Lucius knew. Something _did_ feel cheap about the way Andromeda was brazenly sitting there, fingers intertwined with Ted Tonks', looking far too happy for a woman who was by all standards disgraced and ruined. Without omnioculars, it was still very possible to see the bright green of Rita Skeeter's infamous quill zigzaging into a story. "I'd prefer if you didn't write, Patroclus," he said mildly, turning towards the exit. He had seen Narcissa's older sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, sweep into the Black box like some kind of general marshaling troops and had no doubt that he was supposed to be there as well.

 

 

* * *

"Lucius, what a pleasant surprise," Druella Black said without a hint of surprise as he entered the Black box, standing to let him kiss her dry cheek. She indicated the plush velvet seat she had just vacated. "Please, sit by Narcissa. I'll move over." He could hear Bellatrix arguing with Walburga in heated whispers behind him. Patroclus Nott had not left the Club box to create a scene, Lucius could see. They were all Slytherins, and the balance of power had shifted, with representatives of the three most important families in the country on one side.

Narcissa turned towards him, haughty expression thawing. "Rita Skeeter is watching us," she murmured, lips barely moving from their composed smile. A long tendril of yellow hair dropped right to the shadowy hollow at her collarbone; he resisted the urge to twine it around his fingers.

"This is a warm welcome," he drawled instead, leaning forward. "'Thank you for the flowers, Lucius,' would be nice to start. I like to know if I am appreciated."

"Too much gratitude goes to your head," she informed him loftily. "But they _were_ lovely, and I was about to say so before you took it upon yourself."

They were interrupted by Walburga, who reseated herself with a rustle of black silk and a triumphant smile. "We will make a formal announcement of your engagement at the gala, Narcissa. Your grandfather Pollux can do it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Narcissa actually turned around, color rising to her cheeks. " _Aunt._ We aren't some kind of circus. I already wrote a short announcement for _The Prophet_ next week, which is how things ought to be done."

"Don't argue with me," Walburga snapped. "It's a good story for Skeeter, which is all we need right now. It will take attention away from Andromeda, and I am sure that neither your father nor Abraxas Malfoy would like that sort of press right now. Am I clear? I don't trust Patroclus not to make a scene about this, not when his wife is about to discover his affair with that Flint girl."

Narcissa stiffly turned back to the show without answering. Lucius nodded.

"Good," Walburga said. "Lucius, if you'll step outside with me for a moment, there are a few details we need to discuss."

 

 

* * *

Lucius stood at the side of the hall with Leonidas and Preston Parkinson, surveying the silent auction art on display with the air of a dilettante--much like a fondness for those birds, he preferred to downplay his interest in collecting art. The performers were mingling with the well-dressed crowd; he spied Patroclus Nott deep in conversation with one of the dancers, whose breasts were threatening to spill out of her tight pink robes.

Leonidas smoothed back his hair again. "I think the Spanish one is looking at me. Merlin, I love foreign women. Was she the flamenco dancer or the one in the _Agrippina_ scenes?"

Preston adjusted his collar and summoned a floating tray of champagne towards them. "Don't be absurd, Leo. If she's looking at you it's because you've spilled something on your shirt again. Look, Lucius, Narcissa's here. I still think marriage is a fatally flawed institution, but she could probably convince me otherwise, if you know what I'm saying."

Narcissa had entered with Evangeline Travers and Camilla Avery, whom Lucius equated in his head to attractive, intelligent versions of Crabbe and Goyle. Their group slowly expanded as Bellatrix sailed over, lips pursed and scarlet robes billowing, followed by Claudia Nott, whose gait and expression still reminded him of an over-eager crup. He indicated as much to Narcissa with a raised eyebrow and she covered a laugh with a gloved hand before turning away. He watched the back of her neck for a moment before entering a friendly bidding war with Preston over a hideous student-made painting of chimaeras. The orchestra continued to play.

Finally, when the drinks were getting low, Pollux Black, chair of the W.A.D.A Board of Directors, climbed onto the stage, only slightly tipsy this year. He had the same aristocratic good looks as the rest of the Blacks, sporting an aquiline nose and dark eyes, but it was offset in his case by a weak chin and paunch. "Good evening, Ladies, Gentlemen, Animagi, Metamorphmagi, other Magi..." He paused as people politely chuckled. "This has been a monumental evening for W.A.D.A., though I say that every year. However, I have an announcement to make tonight of a more personal nature." Champagne was being distributed again. Lucius spied Abraxas standing with his mother, trying to make eye contact. He determinedly looked away.

Pollux continued. "I want to announce the engagement of my loveliest granddaughter...no, they're both equally lovely, I know--" Bellatrix laughed and waved "--Narcissa Black, to Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxas and Aurelia Malfoy of Wiltshire, who have been so instrumental in the recent renovation of St. Mungo's Hospital and a source of continued support to W.A.D.A." Applause rang out and Lucius could see Rita Skeeter's mouth gape slightly open as she scribbled away at her parchment.

"But that isn't all," Pollux continued. "Lucius and Narcissa have informed me that they would like to use this occasion to endow a new scholarship for W.A.D.A., so that every year, a student with promising talent may attend without the burden of tuition. They are dedicated to the idea that art is for everyone, and I know that they have a future ahead of them doing immeasurable good for our community. And so, a toast!"

"The old man looks displeased," Leonidas murmured, raising his champagne with everyone else. Abraxas' mouth was in a thin line, blonde mustache ruffled. He looked like he was nursing a severe toothache.

"Does he?" Lucius said innocently. "I thought he loved surprises."

 

 

* * *

They finally escaped into the row of potted palms on the balcony. Narcissa sat down on the bench with a sigh and stared off into the distance. The faint strains of laughter and music were floating out from the hall, and the fairies in the bushes filled the air with twinkling light.

"You're unhappy," he said.

"I'm tired," Narcissa replied, voice tight. "I'm tired of being some kind of sacrificial lamb on the altar of my sisters' stupidity."

"A sacrificial _lamb_ , really?" Lucius couldn't help smiling.

"Fine," she said grumpily. "I'm tired of my sisters interfering with the successful pursuit of my objectives."

"What objectives?"

"Leave me some secrets." Narcissa smiled. "Are you aware of what we just did in there?"

"Created a scholarship?"

"Made it possible for all of Arthur Weasley's children to become professional jugglers."

"I've heard, though, that even a poor juggler makes more than a lackey in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department."

She laughed; not her polite company laugh, but the throaty, genuine one. It made her look younger, reminding him of Slug Club parties and frozen noses in Hogsmeade and lying under the tree by the lake the week after exams. He reached for her arms; he could taste the champagne on her mouth and feel her nails digging into his shoulders through the velvet of his robes.

She pulled away from him, slightly out of breath. "We can't do this here. What if Walburga came looking for us?"

"She can go to hell. Or we just could elope now," he drawled. "Skeeter would have a field day with _that_. Aren't you bored of pretending to be the Virgin Mary?"

"Only dull people are ever bored," she informed him, adjusting her robes. The fairy lights glinted off her two rings: the Black family signet and his great-grandmother's diamond. "And you know very well that Mother has her heart set on mid-June."

 

 

* * *

"It's the _principle_ of the thing I despise," Abraxas droned. He snapped his fingers and the silver teapot floated over to replenish his cup. Outside the breakfast room, rain tapped steadily against the diamond-paned windows.

"I don't understand," Lucius interrupted him, setting his fork down and reaching for another piece of toast. "I was under the assumption that you intended me to take charge when you gave me control of the family finances last year. This scholarship is nothing, and I deemed it necessary at the time."

"Damage control for the Blacks," his father glowered.

"Darling, if our families do not support each other, there won't be any of us left," Aurelia Malfoy commented, standing up and fastening her cloak. "Druella explained it all to me and I'm quite sure it was the right choice--Skeeter was exceedingly complimentary, if you look at the paper. I'll see you both at dinner."

Abraxas harrumphed and picked up _The Prophet_ as she left.

"I thought you approved of Narcissa."

"She's pretty enough to keep your attention," Abraxas said dismissively from behind the paper. Lucius wasn't sure if he was more insulted on his own behalf or hers. "And yes, the Blacks have excellent pedigree and wealth beyond belief, but that family is a liability. Bad blood. Look at that Bellatrix, for starters."

"Narcissa isn't a liability. And 'that family' is older than ours, as you know, and one of the most prominent supporters of the Dark Lo--"

"And you know very well how I feel about your involvement in that area!" Abraxas snapped. "It is not the custom of this family to join radical causes, regardless of our views on blood purism. Mark my words, boy, you're getting into something you'll regret later." He set down _The Prophet_ with a sneer. "But lately, you have proven yourself more foolish than I ever thought possible."

Lucius felt his nerves humming with resentment. "Which of my many failings are we discussing right now, Father?"

"I have always told you that marrying for love is abysmally foolish. You should never develop affection for something you cannot control totally. It makes you weak. And yet here you are, mooning over the Black girl."

He forced a laugh. "Me? In _love_?"

"Call it whatever you want," Abraxas said coldly, picking up _Transfiguration Today._

 

 

* * *

 **March 15-18, 1976**  
"When I was your age, a house party at the Lestranges' meant real muggle hunting, not this Quidditch nonsense and whatever deer and gnome hunting you'll do," the portrait of Septimus Malfoy called out as Lucius walked through the portrait gallery, arms full of broomsticks and hunting wands.

"I'm not going to argue that you lived in a better time for Wizarding rights than I do, sir," Lucius said to chuckles from the other portraits. "But anything is possible with these particular Lestranges, even muggle hunting."

Bellatrix had sent out invitations last week, and to any outsider, the assortment of people she had chosen was a conundrum in itself. The Notts were invited but not the Parkinsons, only some of the Yaxleys and Selwyns were coming, and the Burkes had been snubbed entirely. Narcissa had sent him the clipping of _The Prophet_ with Bellatrix's quote ("When asked about her selections, Mrs. Lestrange told us that she would invite anyone she '[expletive deleted] well pleased' to her house and did not care to be 'bored to tears' by 'dull idiots.'") and had scrawled in the corner _Non, elle ne regrette rien..._ However, it was very clear that this was a house party that would also be partly logistics and planning for the Death Eaters. He hoped brief absences to plan would not lead to uncomfortable questions from Narcissa, but he was too enamored with the idea of a break from reviewing the family investments (even if that meant spending a week in the swamps of Norfolk) to ponder it for too long.

 

* * *

She was wandering through Lestranges' overgrown garden, white robes fluttering, hat in hand, when he escaped the meeting with Rodolphus and clattered through the gloomy hallways towards the maze of shrubbery in the back. They were sending him to Norway soon to meet with Karkaroff at Durmstrang and secure the shipment of several untraceable poisons. While the sensitivity of the job meant he had risen significantly in the Dark Lord's esteem, he rather wished at the moment it could be postponed (but was certainly not stupid enough to voice such thoughts).

"Hello," Narcissa smiled. "Where have you been? The elves told me you arrived three hours ago."

"Looking over investments with Rodolphus," he said easily. "Tedious stuff, you know."

"Oh," she said absently. "Well, it's nice to escape things for a while, isn't it? If I have to answer one more question from Mother or Grandmama or any of my aunts on whether the tablecloths should be cream or ecru, I'll scream."

He was thankful once again for being spared the minutiae of the wedding. They continued through the garden, which, though very unlike the manicured lawns and fountains of Malfoy Manor, had beauty in a haunting, decrepit way. "Do you think you'll miss living in London at all?"

"Hardly. I love Malfoy Manor."

She said it so simply that he did not doubt the sincerity for a second. There were so few of them left who really understood that the old manors and mansions were more than fashionable houses, and even fewer who really understood the history and tradition in the stones. "As do I, though I confess there were times when I resented the place. Goyle and I broke a window playing Quidditch once when I was eight... and well, Father said something along the lines of if I couldn't be a proper steward of the Manor, I didn't deserve to be a Malfoy. He meant well, of course, but children see the world so strangely."

Narcissa swung her hat by its ribbons. "The things our families do to us," she murmured. They wandered by a crumbling gazebo, bowed under the weight of old ivy. "Here's a story... we had Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga over for dinner yesterday," she said a moment later. "Sirius is in trouble again. McGonagall sent another letter; she's at her wits' end."

"What did they do this time?"

She wrinkled her nose with distaste. "They blew up Moaning Myrtle's washroom. He's such an embarrassment. If he can make it two more years without expulsion, Uncle will probably collapse from the shock. And of course, Reggie is horribly distressed by all of it and sent me a pile of letters."

Lucius tried to find Sirius' antics amusing, but it grated on his nerves every time he thought of that foolish child managing the entire Black fortune when a hinkypunk could probably do the job with greater efficiency and tact. "That must have made for a pleasant dinner."

"Oh, comparatively speaking, it was lovely. You know how our family dinners usually are... Anyway, I promised Bella I would go riding with her, so I'll see you later." Narcissa gave him a sideways glance. "My room is the second door past the tapestry of the lady and the unicorn." She nimbly snatched her hat back from the vines of a hungry Venomous Tentacula.

 

* * *

Three days passed in relative peace, and it probably would have continued had Bellatrix, who prided herself on mercurial behavior, not decided to throw a formal party. Since this was the least disturbing of Bellatrix's recent whims, dress robes and gowns were dragged out without complaint. Heating charms and fairy lights made the garden almost bearable, and _The Prophet_ was calling the outdoor bar 'an elegant innovation.' Lucius attempted to focus on the conversation of the group around him while also keeping an eye on a tall figure in a black cloak, who had suddenly emerged and was moving slowly through the groups of guests.

"You're terribly brave to do it," Camilla Avery was saying languidly, sipping a pumpkin cocktail. Tristan, her husband of some months, nodded vehemently. "You couldn't get me on one of those winged horses for a thousand galleons."

"Oh, but riding is family tradition," Narcissa laughed. "I'm perfectly satisfied with Aethonans and Granians--I am not nearly adventurous enough for the Thestrals. But when you've been doing something since childhood you forget the fear entirely. Wouldn't you say so, Lucius?"

"Yes, naturally," Lucius said distractedly. She frowned at him. The Averys moved away and were replaced by Rabastan and Leonidas, who began a lively discussion on Bagnold's recent creation of programs for squibs looking for jobs in the muggle world. The cloaked figure was nearly at their group. He turned to Narcissa abruptly.

"Smile and stay quiet," he ordered, taking her arm. He could feel her tense under his grip. Lord Voldemort had taken off his hood, revealing pale skin and jet-black hair; not objectively unattractive for a man of over fifty, Lucius thought. And yet something was always off. Perhaps it was the aura of menace that that he wore like a second skin, or perhaps that the depths of his eyes were dark red rather than black.

"Ah, Lucius," Lord Voldemort said silkily, once the others had finished their obsequious gestures and turned away. "My slippery friend. You have proven your value time and again these past months, and I have no doubt you will continue to do so with your task in Norway." He turned slightly. "And yes, _this_ must be the charming Miss Black."

Narcissa extended her hand. "It's a pleasure."

"After what I have heard from Bella, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you." He kissed the offered hand and held it up for examination. Lucius was careful to keep his thoughts and expression politely neutral, but he was seething below the surface. Damn the Black sisters and their inability to shut up. "I see the Black signet," Voldemort was saying to Narcissa. "Will you continue to wear it after your wedding?"

"I believe so," she said calmly, which, though Lucius could not explain why, irritated him exceedingly. He tightened his grip on her elbow. "Once a Black, always a Black, you know," she added, as if to needle him on purpose.

"Indeed. Pride in our families is what keeps this country strong," he mused, letting go. "And yet, you will not join me, alongside your fiancé and sister?"

The corners of Narcissa's mouth turned up in a faint smile. If she could feel Lucius' fingers practically digging into her arm, she showed no sign of it. "But I _have_ joined with along with them, have I not, my Lord? Surely there are many ways to contribute to the Cause."

A long second of silence, and then Lord Voldemort smiled. "Very good," he said slowly. "Lucius, I expect to see you soon." And with that he moved away from them towards Bellatrix and Rodolphus, who were seated under a sprawling old tree.

Narcissa wrenched her arm out of Lucius', expression stony. "You may have left a bruise."

"Are you incapable of holding your tongue for longer than a minute?" he hissed. He had no idea how she had found out about his involvement, or Bellatrix's, for that matter, but this was certainly not how he had planned to break the news. "It's a good thing the Dark Lord was amused by your antics, but--"

"This is not the time or place to discuss this," she said in a low, cold voice, brushing past him. "Excuse me."

 

 

* * *

He waited until the logistics meeting had ended to trace the familiar path to her room. The lady on the tapestry outside winked and blew a kiss, which he ignored as he entered, shutting the door behind him with a deliberate click. Narcissa was sitting in her dressing gown at the vanity, long hair streaming down her back. Among the dark velvet of the room, she looked almost ghostly. She stared at him in the mirror, drumming well-manicured nails on the dresser table. "Lucius, do you ever think that we may be rushing into this?"

"Rushing?" Lucius exclaimed. It occurred to him that a snide comment about how much time had had been wasted in picking out table linen would go unappreciated at the moment. He counted to ten and exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. "We've been with each other since _sixth year_. You consider that _rushing_ into a marriage?"

"If we know each other so well," she said, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. "Why would you _ever_ consider it acceptable to talk down to me in public? And in front of our friends and your associates? I am not content to be your mute trophy wife, Lucius, and I had hoped to have made that clear by this point."

"It wouldn't hurt you to trust my judgment," he responded, irritation growing. "There are many things you are not aware of, and if I make decisions for us, I expect you--"

" _Expect_ me? Expect _me_?" She had risen to her feet, wand drawn. "You seem to have forgotten that I am your fianceé and not Crabbe or Travers or any of your _subordinates_. And as to things I supposedly do not know about, come now, let us stop _pretending_ that I knew nothing about your involvement with the Dark Lord before he directly discussed it with me this evening."

Lucius froze, taken aback. They had all taken the utmost precautions to keep involvement under wraps. In fact, now that he thought about it, the only person he had directly shared the information with was Abraxas, which had not gone over well. He attempted a pacifying smile. "Now, I don't know what Bellatrix has been telling you, but--"

"Oh, don't embarrass yourself by trying to pin this on Bella," she sneered. "Anyone with two eyes and brain could tell that you are more than a _financial backer_ of this Cause. If I walked into your room right now I could most certainly find a mask. I wonder, though, what was your long-term plan? How many years did you plan for us to have a marriage like the Notts', with hypocrisy on one side and stupidity on the other?"

"You are blowing this entirely out of proportion, Narcissa. _Calm down_."

"I am not going to calm down, Lucius! You're a man and the _heir_ and wouldn't understand any of this, but I have spent every day of my _life_ trying to avoid the trap of becoming someone's marionette, and I will not start with you. The real problem with you--and Rab, and Leo, and all the others--is that you claim to not want conventional stupidity, but then, all you want is conventional obedience. It _disgusts_ me." Color had risen to her cheeks.

"What I _want_ \--" Lucius said, stung, "--is for you to stop behaving like an irrational child, Narcissa. Since you are incapable of listening to reason right now, I will see you in the morning." A house-elf had been cowering outside the door, and he unceremoniously kicked it down the hallway as he left.

 

 

* * *

"Miss Narcissa told Totty to tell the guests that she is gone back to London," the stooped house-elf announced at breakfast to the mostly hungover and unshaven group. Like most rooms in the Lestrange's sprawling mansion, the breakfast room was paneled dark walnut with gloomy tapestries depicting conquest, casting permanent shadows over the table. "She says there is a problem at the St. Mungo's fundraising and she is needed to be there."

"That's a pity," Rabastan said blearily, looking up from attacking his tomatoes. "I'm sure she'll be back by tonight, though."

Lucius, who had been reflecting on the fact that philanthropic work never necessitated sudden departures, stirred his tea with a carefully neutral expression. "I don't think so. It seemed urgent." He ignored Bellatrix's alternating hostile and questioning glances. "Are we going out today or not?"

"We can go to the kennels," Rodolphus said, rubbing his short beard thoughtfully. "I have a new litter of crups that I need to check on, anyway." Lucius, distracted after a sleepless night and not overly fond of hunting dogs, nodded reluctantly.

"I don't think the Ministry ought to be forcing us to sever their second tails," Patroclus started to pontificate. "It's a disgrace to wizardkind and these creatures." Lucius saw, for the briefest second, Claudia Nott's slavishly doting expression replaced with irritation and boredom before she smiled and nodded. _Hypocrisy on one side and stupidity on the other._ He thought of his parents, with polite indifference towards each other cultivated over the years. All the marriages he could think of were all unsatisfactory in one way or another. Rodolphus and Bellatrix were a strange aberration. Everyone had been surprised when wild, beautiful Bellatrix Black had announced an engagement to Rodolphus, ten years her senior, brooding, sullen, and by all accounts preferring books and dogs to conversation.

"There's a runt I don't know what to do with," Rodolphus was saying gloomily.

"Kill it." Bellatrix turned towards the window. "I can take care of it, if you're weak-stomached."

"It seems wasteful, that's all." This, coming from a man who had strangled a man with bare hands last week, Lucius thought with amusement. "Can I tempt you to take her, Lucius?"

"Certainly not. The last time you brought a crup to Malfoy Manor, it ate one of the peacocks," he drawled. "I can't afford to keep replacing them every time it gets hungry."

 

 

* * *

 **April 3, 1976**  
Karkaroff invited him out for drinks again, but Lucius was starting to find the swill they drank in this country offensive to his sensibilities and instead retired to his opulent hotel room in the city of Bodø, somewhat south of Durmstrang. He had finally toured Durmstrang that afternoon and had rather a lot to add to his report about the Dark Arts classes they took. He sorted the mail idly. He had scrawled a note to Leonidas last week ( _Nothing here but lakes, bad beer, & fish; would take Azkaban over Nurmengard in a day_)--and finally had a response ( _Was planning your stag party for Oslo but can be bribed into relocating_ ). Luicus smiled despite himself and scanned the letter from his mother, which was full of all the usual societal news and another plea for him to return home. He tossed the letter aside, reaching for the cigarettes and wandered onto the balcony. It was unpleasant to contemplate the idea that he was subconsciously looking for the thick cream stationary Narcissa used. She had not responded to the polite note he had sent before his departure, asking to speak with her.

The idea that he could simply end this nonsense and decide _not_ to marry her occurred to him; so alien was the thought that he choked on smoke. He lit another one. Narcissa was, as Abraxas had pointed out disparagingly, "pretty enough" and extremely wealthy; there were few who could match her in those regards alone. But there were other things that set her apart from the giggling masses of Averys and Travers, namely a Machiavellian streak and ambition that he recognized as matching and possibly surpassing his own. Bemoan it as Preston and Rabastan might, the idea of the demure, blushing, virginal bride had died out with his grandfather's generation, thank Merlin for that.

It was a puzzle--he lit another cigarette--that he was simultaneously was attracted to her calculating, vicious outlook and yet extremely irritated by her pursuit of independent goals. _"I'm tired of my sisters interfering with the successful pursuit of my objectives,"_ she had said. The longer he thought, the more it seemed vaguely hypocritical. Hypocrisy was not something he necessarily had problems with (Malfoys had been perfecting the art for multiple centuries, after all), but it unnerved Lucius to think of himself as having any similarities with Patroclus Nott.

He was used to a certain level of deference, accorded to him as the only son of a powerful family, and it had been refreshing that she refused to provide it. But did he really want that every day?

"Will you be dining in tonight, sir? Can I bring you something to eat here?" The unobtrusive butler had appeared. His English was better than Karkaroff's, Lucius thought with amusement.

"No, but I _will_ have a drink--not take horrible house brew you served yesterday, though." He examined the monogrammed cigarette case in his hand as the butler exited--there were only two left now. Abraxas hated when things were half-done, he remembered sardonically, and made to finish them.

 _You should never develop affection for something you cannot control totally. It makes you weak._ The situation was unfortunate, but Abraxas was correct. It was not just physical aspects of her he missed--though they _were_ missed, he thought wryly, thinking about the curve of her neck and the three freckles on her hip--but the way she managed to communicate with him with simply a raised eyebrow, her sly wit, the low, husky laugh. Lucius tossed the last cigarette over the balcony, wondering if he could reserve a portkey back tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 **April 20-25, 1976**  
Lucius had barely let go of the portkey back from Norway and had not even ordered the elves to unpack his trunk when he was informed that his aunt and uncle, the Selwyns, would be dining with them and his mother expected his presence. Leonidas had somehow escaped with a prior arrangement.

So Lucius, whose evening plans had involved a dining at the Aethonan Club and preparing the report he needed to present to the Dark Lord about Karkaroff and shipments from Durmstrang, found himself in dress robes at the table, attempting to make small talk with his tedious relatives. Augustus Selwyn was thin and sickly, silver glasses perched on the end of his long nose and continuously coughing into a white handkerchief. Aunt Louisa was sweet and unoriginal in the way Lucius expected all aunts to be, and together, they formed the least interesting couple he had the misfortune to spend significant amounts of time with. Sometimes, he wondered if Leonidas had been adopted.

He exchanged a mournful glance with Abraxas over the salmon, charred nearly to cinders. Why had the house elf responsible for dinner chosen this night in all nights to get sick? Coming home had suddenly lost all appeal. London was claustrophobic, Wiltshire was tedious, and Narcissa had ignored the brief, polite missive he had sent, asking again to speak with her.

"Mother," he said abruptly, causing Aurelia to turn away with alarm from a detailed conversation she was having with her brother about recent treatments for lumbago, "Has there been any mail I haven't seen?"

"Of course not, darling. I had it all forwarded to you. However, _I_ received such a lovely letter from Druella Black last week--I must tell you all about it, Louisa. They've selected the most beautiful wedding flowers. Lilies of the valley that simply _cascade_."

Lucius surmised from this news that his wedding had not been called off, and sullenly returned to picking at the fish in front of him as the discussion at the table turned to politics and Bagnold's latest appointments. He was distracted from the mundane conversation by the emergence of a house elf, shaking so badly it could barely speak. "What is it?" Abraxas thundered. He loathed elves at the table.

"Mrs-Mrs. L-Lestrange."

Aurelia rose from the table with concern. "I'll go right away. She would never call at dinner--something must be terribly wrong."

"Wait, Mother." Lucius had a sneaking suspicion what this was about. "Is it Mrs. _Armand_ Lestrange, or Mrs. _Rodolphus_ Lestrange?"

The elf let out a sob.

 

 

* * *

"I would really prefer it if you didn't manhandle my servants, Bella," Lucius snapped, striding into the library. She was already seated in his favorite armchair by the fire, examining a small silver knife with interest and curling a strand of hair around her wand.

"It wasn't moving fast enough and was _far_ to insistent about the sanctity of your little dinner with the Selwyns." Bellatrix laughed, making his hair stand on end. "Sit, darling. You won't make me leave any faster by remaining standing."

With extreme reluctance, he sat down, crossing his arms. "What do you want? If it's about the report, that is for the Dark Lord's eyes only, and--"

"It's about Cissy. What in Merlin's name is going on between you too?"

" _Nothing_ , not that it's any of your business."

Her eyes were narrowed. "As you are very aware, I don't like you at all, Malfoy, so I don't need to sugarcoat this. Cissy usually tells me everything, but I have never been able to get a word out of her about you... or whatever little _fight_ you had last month."

"Perhaps the fact that she has not said anything to you implies that there is nothing to be told."

She flicked the knife in the air and caught it by the handle, mixed jealousy and dislike on her face. "But there _is_. Sister's intuition. And if I could solve whatever it is by castrating you and pushing you off a cliff into the North Sea, Malfoy, don't think for a second that I wouldn't do it. But here's what I want to say..." She leaned forward until their faces were scant inches apart. He was uncomfortably aware of the proximity of her knife to his neck. "If you go ahead with this marriage and my sister is unhappy, Malfoy, you should be _extremely_ worried for yourself. I will make your life _hell_. You can't even imagine."

"I'm shaking in my shoes," he said coolly. "Is that all? Then I am sure you can show yourself the way out."

 

 

* * *

He waited impatiently outside the Dark Lord's meeting room, ruminating on the fact that she still had not responded. He had sent another note yet, not contrite but slightly conciliatory, and a bouquet of white orchids for good measure. Complete silence was unusual for Narcissa, who usually liked to make her displeasure well-known to him. Naturally they had argued before, and he always found it amusing when people described Narcissa as lacking the hot temper associated with the Black family. He thought her temper was distinct in that it lacked the hints of recklessness or madness he sometimes suspected in the other Blacks, but perhaps ignoring him this long _was_ a sign of madness, he thought bitterly.

"You can go in," Tristan Avery said as he exited the room, lighting a cigarette with slightly shaking hands. The room was old and smelled musty; the walls were crumbling and patterned with water stains. It was, quite frankly, a miserable place to meet and Lucius thought longingly of the niceties of his study at the Manor. The Dark Lord was looking out the window, Nagini curled around his shoulders. Lucius stood waiting for a full minute until he deigned to turn around, with a slow nod of approval.

"The report is as I expected, Lucius. You have an eye for detail, and Karkaroff will prove valuable to us. Well done." He ran a pale hand over Nagini. "Are you available tonight?"

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius said quickly, because there was only one acceptable answer to that question.

"Good. There's an Order safehouse in Tinworth, and I want you to join Rodolphus and some of the others taking care of it."

 

 

* * *

"Imperio," he murmured without emotion. The man hesitated for a moment, brow knit, and then--Lucius always waited for this moment--his face relaxed slightly as the curse took hold. _It's so easy. Like a drug._ Any brute could acquire proficiency with the Cruciatus curse (Amycus Carrow, for example), but skill with the Imperius took talent. It had always fascinated him, this surrender of absolute control. In few months, he predicted that he wouldn't need to even speak the incantation.

The old Tinworth man continued on his route, pausing in front of the nondescript brown house for a moment before returning to the alley a block away where Lucius was waiting with the others. "Well?" he asked.

"There's protective spells on the house, layers of 'em. But nobody's standing guard, 'cept if they have an Invisibility cloak on. Lights are on inside an' you can hear people talking."

"Who can you hear, exactly?"

"I've seen the Longbottoms before an' it doesn't sound like them. A couple of boys and a girl, I think."

Rodolphus folded his arms, frowning. "Spells but no physical guards? That doesn't sound typical of Dumbledore. He must be losing his touch, or doesn't have valuable people stuck in there. Augustus, deal with the spells on the house and send sparks when we're clear. We'll burn it down anyway. I think it sends a good message."

Rookwood pulled on his mask and murmured a Disillusionment Charm, barely causing any litter in the alley to rustle as he made his way out onto the street. Lucius glanced at the sloppy old man in front of them with contempt. "Shall I Obliviate him?"

"No," Carrow giggled. _"Avada Kedavara!"_ he wheezed, and they all watched as the man fell toppled over gracelessly onto the pavement.

"That was a waste," Lucius said coldly. "What if I needed more scouting?"

"You don't, and no one cares about him," Carrow protested. Lucius was about to argue for the merits of conservatism with the use of Unforgiveables, convenient as they might be, when Rodolphus placed a finger on his lips and gestured to the sky, where Rookwood's three sparks flashed and vanished.

"Carrow, you and I will go now. Lucius, follow with Selwyn in three mintues." Leonidas had been leaning against the building in gloomy silence, but he nodded and they watched Rodolphus move briskly out in the street, Amycus trailing him like a pudgy shadow. They had been Marked at the same time, but Lucius' far rapider rise in the Dark Lord's ranks was a source of tension. The truth of it, Lucius had realized, was that Leonidas was weak-stomached. They had all been forced to take turns using and receiving the Imperius and Cruciatus curses as part of training--a necessity, of course, that Lucius had no qualms about--but he had found Leonidas after, violently vomiting and in despair.

He lit two cigarettes with the tip of his wand. "This isn't the time to lose your nerve."

"I wasn't planning on it," Leonidas said roughly, taking a drag and stomping it into the gutter. He slid the mask on. "Let's go."

They moved slowly out into the street. Tinworth was silent, with nothing to disturb him but the soft whispers of the ocean in the background. "Wait--" Lucius froze with a new thought. "If you were Dumbledore creating a real safe house, what would be the first thing you would do?"

"Unplottable, no question," Leonidas said. They looked at each other in understanding and then dove to the ground as the house, with a resounding boom, began to implode. Lucius could feel the heat of the fire as it consumed the walls. People started flooding out of the neighboring houses in droves, some screaming, others pointing and staring.

"We have to get them," Leonidas hissed. "All three of them are inside."

"Yes, naturally, but in the mean time, the Aurors will be here as soon as they see us." Lucius frowned. "You need to divert their attention. Set another building on fire, or something, and then we'll go in."

 

 

* * *

When Lucius opened his eyes, he could see a chink of sunlight streaming in between heavy velvet drapes, illuminating dancing dust particles. His head spun and his shoulder throbbed, but the pain was distant and he realized then that he could breathe without the taste of ashes in his mouth, which was certainly positive in the scheme of things. He could hear the rustling of paper; when he turned his head, he saw Narcissa, impeccably dressed, sitting in an armchair and flipping idly through a copy of _Witch Weekly._ She looked at him appraisingly, chin resting in her hand.

"If I had known that being injured was all it would take for you to appear, I could have solved that problem a long time ago," he drawled. He refrained from saying anything else. They had always been taught to suppress unnecessary emotion, and besides, Lucius was unsure if there were words for the sudden sharp pain in his chest upon seeing her.

"Well, I'm thrilled that your sense of humor survived intact," she said drily, standing up and stretching out the kinks in her back.

"I could be incorrect, of course, but I feel intact in general." He glanced around the unfamiliar, ornate room with interest. "Where are we? What day is it?"

"It's Tuesday and we are at Ravenscroft Hall." The Black family's ancestral seat dwarfed the Lestrange and Malfoy homes, but only Arcturus Black and his wife resided there currently, overseeing the world from atop the cliffs with misanthropic disdain. "It would be awfully suspicious if all of you flooded into St. Mungo's right after Tinworth burns down, so we turned it into a temporary hospital."

He leaned back against the pillows. "We?"

"You all needed Healers, but the best you could dredge up until Antonin got here was the self-taught heiress," Narcissa said, a touch acerbically. He noticed that she was still wearing her engagement ring. She sighed and smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in the bedclothes with a hand that shook. "You were... quite a sight when they brought you in, Lucius."

"Don't say you were worried."

"I was furious with you for scaring me like that. But then, I'm always furious with you," she said lightly, sinking down on the bed next to him. They were close enough for him to count her eyelashes. Narcissa folded her arms, face expectant, and he knew in that moment that they were going to have this conversation many times over the next few years. It didn't trouble him as much as it might have before.

"Narcissa, it seemed safer at the time to keep things quiet, but I always intended to fill you in eventually," he said seriously. "When have I ever treated you as an inferior? Hypocrisy on one side and stupidity on the other has never been our modus operandi. And it was too important to just casually mention... imagine what good the Cause will do for our families, and for _us_."

"I know," she said quietly. "And if you had told me earlier, you would have known of my full support earlier. But I do trust you, Lucius. I always have." She took his face in her hands, running her fingers slowly over the stubble on his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him. He tangled a hand in her hair and pressed back against her with with a sigh.

"Wait," he murmured with amusement. "Is our wedding on?"

"It was never canceled, silly man," she said crisply. "Did you not hear that we've selected the flowers?"

 

 

* * *

 **June 9, 1976**  
"You know it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding," Narcissa said to his reflection in the mirror. She was examining the intricate lace and seed pearls for invisible tears, smoothing it down over her ribs.

"Do you believe in luck, Narcissa?"

"Not for a second," she said with a smile.

He grinned back. "You've forgotten to put this on," he said, picking up the goblin-made diamond tiara on the dresser. Much to his mother's chagrin, she had eschewed the Malfoy family tiara for the Black one but had partly redeemed herself through wearing his grandmother's necklace with good grace. The diamonds were blindingly bright. He thought momentarily about sliding it on her head, but Narcissa took it from his hands.

"Napoleon crowned himself," she reminded him, and so she did.


End file.
